


carved for the gods

by nu-exo (Nekohime)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Sex, M/M, Mentions of Ritual Sacrifice, Oral Sex, god!xiaojun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekohime/pseuds/nu-exo
Summary: Minhyung's first kiss is from a god.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 32
Kudos: 235





	carved for the gods

**Author's Note:**

> A little birthday contribution for our August boys!

The highest honor, should you be captured in battle, was to be deemed worthy of the gods. This was a truth Minhyung had been raised with, a truth he knew well, a truth he faced now with his head held high.

Minhyung willingly drank of the pungent herbal mixture he was given, feeling the warm drink heat his stomach and loosen his limbs, his muscles, until he was lax and pliant in the hands of the women who would prepare him for death. He smiled vaguely at the whiffs of rosemary and sage his nose caught coming off the women as they bathed him, fingers running pleasantly through his hair. He let his neck loll back after as they patted him dry and rubbed warm oils into his muscles with strong, sure hands, leaving him smelling of freshly bloomed gardenia.

When he was lathered from neck to ankle, the evening light catching on his bare, oiled skin, glancing off his chest and stomach, the rise of his thighs, Minhyung’s waist was wrapped in a simple cotton shift; the bulk of the fabric knotted at his front and left to hang loose. It was soft against his skin as he was led to be painted, the gentle touch of fabric sending light tingles down to his toes where it just barely grazed against the backs of his thighs and bottom of his buttocks.

The women said something that Minhyung’s hazy mind couldn’t parse, one of them pressing a firm, warm palm in the center of his chest, bringing him to a stop. They turned him with guiding hands so he was stood in front of a massive slab of high polished gold amongst an array of ornately carved wooden tables, each holding glittering golden bowls of brightly colored paint.

His preparers were silent as they moved, gathering cool pigment on the tips of their fingers to paint smooth strokes across Minhyung’s skin. They started at his chest, following the slant of his clavicles, dipping down halfway to create two long lines of paint that covered the length of his torso before hitting the V of his hips and tracing that down to the edge of his cotton shift.

Minhyung gasped at the touch of paint to his nipples, the brush of fingers dancing over his stomach, tracing over hard-earned muscle, pressing firmly against the sensitive skin of his pelvis. He gasped, feeling pleasure stir lazy and thick in his veins, and the women giggled.

“Relax,” one of them told him, slow and clear so he’d understand even in his current state.

He hadn’t realized he’d tensed, but his hands were curled at his sides, muscles jumping along his arms and legs. He breathed out through his nose in a long sigh, feeling his body go lax once more, efficient hands finishing up their work on his shoulders, his thighs.

Once done, Minhyung was painted in geometric lines of vibrant color; a deep, rich blue on his chest and thighs signifying death and the soon-to-be sacrifice of his life for the deities they served; a bright, brilliant red tracing his cheekbones and arms and the lower half of his legs for his status as warrior, as leader, strong even if not the victor; and lastly a smattering of white, to denote his village origins, humble but not detractive of any of his accomplishments.

His hands were bound with a rope dyed a vibrant turquoise, little bits of animal bone woven in, and then, he was ready.

Led out to the sight of the sun kissing the horizon and upturned, painted faces staring at him from amongst the firelight, Minhyung felt _strong_.

He was walked out by the women who’d prepared him—priestesses now veiled in gauzy cloth—to the heavy beat of drums that reverberated deep in his bones, filling his lungs with something like anticipation and revelation.

Minhyung could hear the murmurs of those around him as he was walked, bound hands flexing in time with his quickening pulse, the noise a constant press against his ears. Soft chanting that when multiplied by hundreds became a resonant roar, rising up around him in crashing waves.

The sound buoyed him along the packed dirt pathway, and then up the first, second, third set of monumental steps leading up the side of the pyramid, until he was stepping foot in the temple at the top with nothing but the sacrificial stone altar before him.

The world opened up to him in that moment, the humid breeze whipping up around his ankles, caressing his thighs and sending his shift fluttering. The wind, while damp, was cool against his heated skin, the tea mixture he’d drank beginning to wear off and leave his body hot, his skin tight. It was the first bit of true discomfort he’d felt all day, so he leaned into the gusts buffeting the temple at this altitude. Let it wipe away the sweat beading along his hairline and dripping down his jaw, his neck, between the plains of his chest.

Up here, the drums were but a distant hum, the chanting a shiver-inducing reminder that Minhyung was about to meet the gods. That he’d warred and battled well enough, risen through the ranks steadily enough, to be recognized by those he fought against as fitting of such a special death.

He took in a deep breath, eyes flitting across the views being gifted to him in his last moments, the sprawling expanse of dark jungle and the extensive stretch of endless now-dark and star-filled sky. It was awe-inspiring, a better signifier than anything else that he was closer than he’d ever been to the gods in that very moment.

Filled with that awe, Minhyung wondered for the briefest of seconds as another cup of drink was pressed to his lips—the scent bitter this time, like the smoke inhaled by their tribe’s seers when they wanted to commune with the gods about the future of their harvest or outcome of a battle—if it would hurt. Dying, that is.

If he would feel it as his chest was broken open and into, heart torn from its cage of bone.

“Place him on the altar.”

And then that moment was gone, lost to the hands pulling at his arms, careful not to smudge the paint there, sending the world into a giddy spin as the drink he’d been given made his body feel light and his head feel heavy.

Rough stone met the bare skin of his back, forcing a small gasp of surprise from Minhyung’s lips as his arms and legs were splayed out and tied down. His skin tingled on contact, the sensation amplified by the drink he’d been given, leaving him winded in a way that had pleasure sparking down his spine as he stared up at the expansive sky—laid bare and displayed for the gods to see.

His death, he realized, would be a bright star of pain, more glorious than anything he’d experienced before.

He huffed out a small, delirious puff of air, a giggle escaping him that was swept away as soon as it was free. This was happening. This was happening, this was happening, _this was happening_.

He clenched his fists and curled his toes, filling his lungs to the brim with the night air and all it carried. Smoke from the braziers, sweetly scented; the taste of rain, sitting heavy on the back of his tongue like an old friend; flowers, wafting up from his skin and those of the priestesses, the priests, gardenias for him and soft lilies for them; and anticipation, excitement, _victory_ , swirling and building to a crest before crashing down only to swell up once more. 

It was a heady thing. 

The crowds far below at the foot of this grand monolith to the gods greedily awaiting the soon-to-be blood letting. The holy figures reciting their prayers in lilting rhythms, giddy at the divine right they were about to carry out. And Minhyung, muscles straining from the stretch they’d been pulled into by coarse rope, back burning from the persistent press of limestone, skin sweat damp and prickled in places like gooseflesh from the winds that only seemed to get stronger. Responding, almost, to the sheer amount of energy in the air. To the blind, faith-driven elation Minhyung felt coursing through his body at being served up to the gods.

He’d fought to the best of his abilities, pushing his body beyond its limits. He’d led the men under him better than any other in their long and bloody battle. He’d spilled blood for the deities—both those in the celestial realm and those who oversaw the struggles of the mortal plane—and he’d had _his_ blood spilled, pale long scars that crossed and curled over his body reminders of his triumphs and defeats. He’d done all he could.

Tears pricked the corners of Minhyung’s eyes and a small smile twitched unbidden at his lips. He’d _earned this right_.

The chanting stopped. The drums followed. A sudden silence consumed them all, whistling so loudly in Minhyung’s ears he almost missed the sharp rasp of blade sliding from sheath.

“May the gods delight in this life we offer them.”

Mark took a deep breath, found his favorite star—one with a blue tinge and light so bright Mark could sometimes find it in the day—and waited.

In a smooth swing downwards that whistled in the air, the knife was brought down.

Blazing agony, a cry torn from already parted lips, and then Minhyung was gone.

✹

Minhyung woke up.

He blinked, eyes squinting against the soft light washing over him, warming him. Was this death? Was this the afterlife?

Minhyung flexed his fingers in the soft pile of furs and cloths he was laid out on, noted the gentle clink of metal bangles around his wrists—items that hadn’t been there before—a cool weight against his skin. This wasn’t how the afterlife was described by their holymen.

Confused but curious, Minhyung tried to sit up, groaning when his whole body seemed to scream back at him. His muscles were sore like after a day of running through the forest for a hunt, his joints aching from being stretched and held in place through the sacrificial ceremony.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Minhyung startled, gasping as his muscles protested at the sudden, sharp movement. Forcing himself into a semi-seated position propped up on his elbows—shivering at the shift of air-cooled gold against the base of his neck—Minhyung stared at the person who’d entered the spacious room he’d been laid out in.

No, person wasn’t quite right. _Person_ , was a far too mild term to describe the being smiling back at him now, because there was no way an entity this lovely was human.

Feathery, petal pink hair that shifted in the idle breeze blowing through the room’s massive windows. Sun-kissed skin that stretched over smooth muscle and sharp cheekbones. Dark brows set over brilliant yellow eyes that had the piercing force of an animal’s gaze. 

The being—man? Spirit? God?—before him was gorgeous, draped in golden stitched cloths that clung tight to his narrow waist and left the expanse of his chest exposed, the vibrant dyes of red, blue, yellow, and green creating a striking contrast against his skin.

He wasn’t tall, Minhyung himself was likely taller, but he carried with him a certain presence that not even kings could lay claim to. A presence that made you want to stare in wide-eyed obeisance, to fall to your knees and supplicate, to bow your head and whisper their name in awe.

 _Name_ , Minhyung thought suddenly, almost desperately, watching the being approach with silent, panther-like steps, an amused little smile dancing on his lips as he watched Minhyung as though he were prey, _How do I learn his name?_

Because to ask a god—Minhyung was rapidly becoming sure that was who he was faced with now, as the room itself seemed to warp and curl around the man as he came closer—to name themselves was tantamount to blasphemy. It was presumptuous. A mere mortal should know the name of _all_ the gods, and Minhyung _did_ , but…

The man stopped by the bedding Minhyung had been lain on, raising a hand to gently press the tips of his fingers to Minhyung’s ankle. He ran his eyes along the length of Minhyung’s essentially prone form, smile softening when he reached Minhyung’s face.

But Minhyung had never heard of a god that looked like the man before him. He’d heard of scarred warriors with the pelts of leopards shrouding their shoulders, of feathered serpents who ruled the sky, of blue-skinned rulers who oversaw death, but he had never heard of a god who glowed like the sun itself. Of a god with pink hair and striking eyes and a face so handsome Minhyung could imagine wars being waged for it. A god who was dressed like the richest ruler, but bared a smattering of jagged scars over taut skin like an experienced fighter.

“You look a bit overwhelmed,” the god hummed, tilting his head, the drops of emerald hanging from his ears catching the room’s golden light, casting green tinted dots along the peach hued walls. “I’m sure this must all be a bit much to take in,” he slid his fingers higher up Minhyung’s leg in a gentle caress before dragging them back to his ankle at an even slower pace, “Especially for one who was expecting Death.”

Minhyung gasped at the light touch, heat flaring up low in his belly as the ministrations continued. A delicate back and forth, back and forth that had Minhyung remembering he was clothed in nothing but a thin swath of cloth currently; a swath of cloth which wouldn’t hide anything should the heat swirling in his belly rise.

Minhyung opened his mouth, closed it, grasped for something to say, none of his teachings proper preparation for a situation such as this. “My lord—” was that how one addressed a god? “—I—I don’t—I apologize, but I—”

The god’s smile widened. He moved to sit at Minhyung’s side, pressing up against him warmly, hip to hip. Minhyung went still, breath catching in his throat. The god’s eyes curved sweetly, so clearly pleased in Minhyung’s floundering it sent shivers down Minhyung’s spine. 

“We don’t quite look the way humans describe us, my brothers and I,” the god chuckled, voice deeper than his face would suggest, easily reading and speaking to Minhyung’s source of panic, “Though I suppose that’s partly our fault for appearing in such varying forms when we walk the mortal plane.” He placed a hand on Minhyung’s thigh, a warm, friendly weight that burned Minhyung to the core and glinted with gold—cuffs Minhyung hadn’t noticed at first stunned glance clasped around his wrists and biceps. The god watched Minhyung stare fixated at his hand and slid it ever-so-slightly upwards. “I’d understand if you can’t place my name, Lee Minhyung, though I’d be ever so pleased if you could.”

Minhyung stuttered in a shaky breath, flicking his tongue out to wet his lips. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the hand rubbing slowly over the muscle of his thigh, harder to tear his eyes away from where the god’s thumb was drawing the smallest of circles into his skin, but he forced himself to drag his gaze up to the cuffs and the images engraved there. Images of a battle between a god and a massive multi-legged beast.

He recalled a story about a monstrous creature that once tried to consume the mountains, a creature with six legs and scythe-like claws that none of the other gods could stop. That is, until a young god stepped forth, bow in hand and fletch of arrows at his hip. The young god killed the beast with seven arrows, six to the limbs and one to its great head. In that moment, the young god became the first true warrior, a figure for human hunters and fledgling soldiers to pray to in their darkest moments. A god Minhyung himself had prayed to throughout his life, that he’d spoken to in his mind almost as a friend.

Minhyung looked up, lips parted in realization and growing awe, meeting the god’s golden gaze with a wide-eyed one of his own. “Lord Xiaojun,” he breathed, fists clenching at his sides, head tipping forward in a deferential bow as he forced himself into a fully upright position, ignoring the creaky complaint of his muscles, “It’s an honor to be in your presence.”

The hand on Minhyung’s thigh flexed, fingers squeezing his muscle and dimpling his skin. When Minhyung met the god’s eyes once more, it was to see a hungry glint softened slightly by a pleased smile.

“Ah,” Xiaojun hummed, “I knew I’d made the right choice in taking you.”

Minhyung felt himself flush fiercely, his neck, ears, and cheeks burning. Even his chest felt warm, making him highly conscious of the fact that it was bare for the god to see.

That the god, that _Xiaojun_ —divinity of the hunt and first battles—had left him bare to be seen.

“A shame I had to wait until the ritual had been completed,” he continued, removing the hand on Minhyung’s thigh to bring it up to the dip of Minhyung’s throat, drawing it down in a grazing touch. “But I couldn’t bring you here until you’d passed.” He stopped in the center of Minhyung’s chest, tapping lightly and drawing Minhyung’s gaze down. There was a scar there, now, that hadn’t been there before. A scar in the shape of a starburst, the soft pinkish-white of an old, fully healed wound. “Not to say that I didn’t enjoy the meal, though.” Minhyung snapped his head back up with a sharp intake of breath, heart jumping at the purr in the god’s tone. Xiaojun smiled at him sweetly and pressed his palm flat to Minhyungs chest, fingers just digging in to the flesh of his pecs. “Your vitality was _delicious_.”

Minhyung hiccuped out a startled laugh, quickly clapping a hand over his mouth to stop more inappropriately giddy sounds from bubbling up and out. Minhyung wondered if any others who’d been sacrificed had gotten to experience this pleasure—the pleasure of knowing they’d been worthy nourishment for a god. 

A selfish part of him hoped the answer was no. The greediest part of himself which he kept carefully hidden away hoped he was special, that this—winding up in a god’s domain, being dressed in gold and laid out on soft bedding—was something special to him and him alone.

“I’m glad,” he said instead, voice a bit rough from disuse, still hiding his smile behind his hand, “I’m glad that I was worthy of you, my lord.”

Xiaojun huffed out a light laugh. “So lovely,” he sighed, thumbing idly at Minhyung’s nipple as he slid his hand in a heated path to the side to cup the curve of Minhyung’s right pectoral, scratching gently at the pebbling nub with his nail until Minhyung let out a loud, unabashed gasp, “I only wish I’d been able to take you away before you’d been scarred. You likely take it as a point of pride, but truly, there is a shortage of perfect breasts in the world, it’d be a pity to leave yours damaged as they were.” Xiaojun leaned forward, resting his weight on one hand while the one at Minhyung’s chest went up to cup his jaw. “Forgive me?”

Minhyung laughed loudly this time, the sound full-chested and embarrassingly pleased. His cheeks were warm once more, though he had the suspicion that they’d stay that way in this surprisingly playful god’s presence.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. These scars, all my battles fought and won, they were all for you.” Minhyung smiled, ducked his head to hide behind the weak shield of his fringe. “If it pleases you to remove any, then I’m only happy to have them gone.”

Xiaojun’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, glittering and sharp, before narrowing with obvious pleasure at Minhyung’s response.

“ _Xiaojun_ ,” he said, leaning close enough that Minhyung could count each of the dark lashes framing his impossible eyes, “You have permission to use my name. If you’d rather not I’d understand, but—”

“Xiaojun,” Minhyung breathed, heart jumping at the expression that flitted across the god’s face. Something like awe and wonder, things Minhyung never imagined a god could feel in the wake of their immortal lives. “I meant no disrespect by not calling using it, I simply didn’t know if it would offend you to be called so familiarly.”

Xiaoun seemed satisfied with that answer, nodding as he let his hand slide from Minhyung’s jaw to rest against his neck, drawing absent-minded patterns into the soft skin there.

“I do have a question, if you would permit,” Minhyung started, tone breathy at the intimate touch, not used to being handled so gently—not used to closeness of this sort at all.

“Mm,” Xiaojun hummed, so near Minhyung could feel his exhalations against his mouth. “In this space, all permissions are granted to you.”

“This—this is death, then? This,” he glanced around, taking in the lush foliage situated in all corners of the room, and the peek of blue sky beyond the windows’ edges, “is the after?”

“For you,” Xiaojun smiled, lips quirked up as though laughing at a personal joke. “I doubt there are many who’ve been plucked from the afterlife and brought to a god’s domain, though. For most Death has a different face.”

Minhyung felt something proud unfurl in his chest at that, knowing that he had been selected, that he’d excelled so thoroughly in how he’d led his life that he’d caught a god’s eye.

“Am I—are there others?”

Xiaojun shook his head, his smile turning a touch wistful, a bit sad, an expression that felt distinctly wrong on the face of someone Minhyung found so lovely. “Not anymore. Once, many, many years ago, there was another I brought to my domain, but he chose to leave.” Xiaojun brushed a fleeting touch across Minhyung’s shoulders. “He was strong, and handsome, much like yourself, and he had bigger plans than living by a god’s side.”

 _A fool_ , Minhyung thought, the fierceness of it surprising him even as it felt right. Who would leave once chosen? Who would leave once reaching this pinnacle of warriorhood, of _worship?_

_Only a fool_.

Xiaojun laughed, the sound deep and resonant, head tossed back and nose scrunching cutely. It gave him a youthfulness that had Minhyung smiling along.

“He wasn’t a fool,” he said when he’d caught his breath again, looking at Minhyung with a fondness Minhyung felt like he’d done nothing to deserve. The oddness of that emotion being directed towards him distracting enough that Minhyung almost didn’t realize that Xiaojun was responding to thoughts Minhyung had foolishly spoken out loud. “He simply hadn’t been satisfied with what I could offer.”

“I apologize,” Minhyung said, because the words were already out there, “but to me, that _is_ foolish.”

Xiaojun looked at Minhyung as though _he_ were the divine being and not the reverse, both hands coming to cup his cheeks in a single fluid motion, bringing their foreheads together in a gentle press. “You,” Xiaojun paused, huffing out a small laugh on the edge of disbelieving. “You are truly beyond all expectation.”

Minhyung’s heart felt like it was about to race out of his chest, the flush on his face surely spreading down his neck by now. He wondered absently how such a feeling was possible when his heart had been carved from his body and eaten by the god in front of him. Though he supposed out of everything happening now, with Xiaojun gazing at his mouth like a man starved, eyes hooded and glowing, his heart beating where it technically shouldn’t was a small, insignificant wonder.

“May I kiss you?” Xiaojun asked, tilting his head to the side, nosing gently at Minhyung’s cheek.

Minhyung let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, closing his eyes against the shiver working its way down his spine. When he opened them again, it was to be met with Xiaojun’s piercing gaze hovering only a hair’s breadth away. Watching. Waiting.

“I gave myself to you, to the gods, when I dedicated myself to a path of war. I became yours in perpetuity when I died on that altar.” Minhyung took a deep breath, leaning himself just that bit forward so that his lips were brushing the god’s when he spoke. “You, my lord, are welcome to do with me as you please.”

Xiaojun’s eyes went wide, glittering like precious stones, as a broken noise escaped his throat. Minhyung didn’t have time to ask if he’d said something wrong before Xiaojun was closing the infinitesimal distance between them, soft mouth slanting over Minhyung’s in a firm press.

Minhyung, having thrown himself into training and combat from a young age, hadn’t allowed himself the distraction of forming relations of any kind. He’d shied away from intimate touches, focusing on nothing but training his body and mind to a level of perfection that intimidated most of his peers. He hadn’t minded it in life. And, now, he had to say he couldn’t bring himself to mind it in death.

Xiaojun kissed him like he was something precious, lips moving gently against his own at first, groaning softly in approval when Minhyung opened up on a breathless sigh. As the kiss deepened, he took clear control, sliding his tongue into Minhung’s mouth, curling it around Minhyung’s in a wet caress. Minhyung jumped at the odd sensation but didn’t try to move away, instead finding pleasure simmering in his veins and curling down his spine.

Xiaojun nipped at his lips and chased his mouth with kisses that were becoming bruising in intensity until Minhyung’s lips were slick with spit and tingled at every touch. It was better than anything Minhyung had ever experienced and he found himself quickly hardening under his simple cloth covering.

Minhyung moaned low in his throat as Xiaojun gently pushed him back onto the bedding with a hand to his chest. He gasped as Xiaojun followed him down, shifting his weight and crawling over him so he could settle between Minhyung’s legs, warm and welcome and torturous with the way he slotted their hips together in a slow hot grind.

“ _Xiaojun,_ ” Minhyung gasped, back arching and hips rising in a reflexive search for _more_.

Xiaojun swallowed the gasp and followed the whimpers down greedily, lips sliding wetly over Minhyung’s, breathing him in with a hot sigh of his own.

“You’re so good,” he breathed, kissing a trail from Minhyung’s mouth down to his jaw, biting and sucking at the soft skin just below. He laved his tongue over the love bites, one hand sliding over Minhyung’s chest, scratching lightly at his stomach before dipping lower to remove the cloth still just barely covering Minhyung’s hardening cock. “So sweet.” Minhyung saw stars, bright points of pleasure zipping through his whole body, as a warm hand closed tight around his cock, pumping him in long, slow strokes. He cried out, feeling the same type of hyper-sensitivity that he’d experienced while splayed out on the altar under a field of stars, hands flying up unbound now to tangle in Xiaojun’s hair, to grip tight at his exposed shoulder. Xiaojun sighed against the hollow of his throat, a happy sound laced with his own pleasure, his own excitement. “So _perfect_.”

From there, Minhyung’s mind lost track of time, of place, of where the line between his body and Xiaojun’s stopped and started.

He felt overwhelmed in the best way; Xiaojun’s hands at his cock, at his waist, his mouth biting at the meat of his pec, sucking at his nipples—one, and then the other. Minhyung never realized that one could feel so much pleasure, so much _good_ at the hands of another. And then Xiaojun was licking down the V of his hips, kissing the inside of Minhyung’s thighs, taking his cock down into the wet heat of his mouth, and Minhyung had to readjust his understanding of the limits of pleasure as every fibre of his being sang with an arousal so fierce he thought he’d catch fire.

“ _O-oh,_ ” he stuttered out, eyes the size of moons as a god swallowed him down to the root. He was panting, chest heaving, glistening with a layer of sweat as the lightning outside shifted from a serene gold to a passionate orange-red. “Xiaojun,” he moaned, unable to stop himself from tightening his grip on the god’s pink locks, unconsciously rocking up into the welcoming heat of his mouth in small thrusts, “ _Xiaojun_.”

He could come like this, Minhyung realized, delirious with want and more arousal than he knew what to do with, the heat in his gut forming a burning coil that was progressively winding tighter. There was sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down the back of his neck, collecting damp wherever the gold he’d been ornamented with touched his skin, and clear fluid sliding down his cock to mix with Xiaojun’s spit, wet and sloppy. Xiaojun popped off his cock with an obscene slurp, a trail of spit still connected to his now swollen lips, looking up at Minhyung with a heavy lidded gaze. He hadn’t broken eye-contact once through his ministrations, watching Minhyung become a mess in his hands from under his lashes.

Yes, Minhyung could come like this, led to the edge and guided over by this pretty-eyed god.

Xiaojun seemed to have other plans for him, though. He licked at his lips, breaking the string of spit, smirking when Minhyung’s cock jumped in his loose grip.

Letting Minhyung’s cock go and gently removing Minhyung’s hands from his hair, Xiaojun unfastened the clasp holding his own garments together. His clothes pooled around their legs, a cool weight against Minhyung’s overheated skin that were quickly batted away with an easy flick of Xiaojun’s wrist.

The flex of muscle along Xiaojun’s arm had been a distracting enough sight for Minhyung that he almost forgot what Xiaojun shedding his clothes meant. Minhyung curled his fingers and toes into the top layer of bedding beneath him, gaze tracing over every inch of freshly bared skin, suffering quietly in his desperation to touch everywhere before remembering that he _could_.

He held out his arms, not trusting his mouth to form the words he needed, making a pleased little noise when Xiaojun understood and returned to him.

Being wrapped up in each other, skin to skin, felt different than being touched while Xiaojun was still partially clothed. It was more intense, somehow more intimate than even having Xiaojun’s mouth suckling at his cock.

Xiaojun’s hips grinding against his own were infinitely more maddening with nothing between them, Minhyung’s thighs twitching where they were hiked up to wrap around his waist. Xiaojun seemed to be feeling it as well—this up-tick in sensation—his brows furrowing as his hips moved in tight circles of their own accord, grinding his cock against Minhyung’s hip, leaving behind a growing patch of thick fluid while his hands and mouth mapped out the scars decorating Minhyung’s body.

He traced the knotted whorl over Minhyung’s hip, dragged hard fingers over the old claw marks left behind from his first hunt along his ribs, licked along the thick band of pale scar tissue created by a heavy blade in the midst of battle warping the skin of his waist. 

“Beautiful,” Xiaojun sighed, bringing his mouth back up to Minhyung’s to kiss him deep, rocking their bodies together in a slow but devastating rhythm.

It didn’t leave Minhyung with very much presence of mind to return the favor and touch Xiaojun the way he wanted. He felt like he’d been reduced to a pile of clay in Xiaojun’s hands, pliant and soft. He felt loose and happy, cock leaking and red between their bodies, back to teetering on the edge of release, lungs burning with how much he wanted to finally tip over.

Xiaojun broke the kiss eventually, shifting a little on top of Minhyung to reach off the edge of the bedding for something on the floor. He came back with a small ceramic vial, a mild, distinctly oil-like scent mixed with hints of rosemary wafting out when it was unstoppered.

“Wh—what is that?” Minhyung asked around heavy breaths, hazily eyeing Xiaojun as the god tipped the contents of the vial out onto his fingers.

“Oil,” he said simply, “To prepare you.” He paused, then, looking up to Minhyung with a small furrow between his brows, looking oh-so-lovely in his concern. “May I? Enter you, that is. I didn’t mean to assume, but if you’d rather have things continue like this, or have me finish you with my mouth, I’d—”

Minhyung cut him off by dragging him back down into a long, slow kiss, taking his time to lick into the god’s mouth this time, tasting and teasing. “I told you,” he said, voice low and rough with want, with _need_ , “I’m yours. All I care is that you touch me.”

Xiaojun placed a chaste kiss on Minhyung’s lips, and then another against his cheek, his nose, his forehead. “As you wish.”

And then there was a finger, slicked with oil, circling Minhyung’s entrance. Minhyung shivered at the touch, whining unintentionally when Xiaojun pressed the tip in, the sensation utterly foreign though not entirely unpleasant with how lost to desire Minhyung currently was.

Xiaojun stayed close as he slid his finger in to the first knuckle, the second, the base, whispering sweet nothings into Minhyung’s ear and kissing his neck to distract him as he was stretched. 

What was uncomfortable at first quickly became pleasurable, Xiaojun stroking and curling his first finger, then a second into Minhyung at a steady pace. His fingers made slick sounds as they pressed in and out of Minhyung’s hole, loud in the otherwise stillness of the room, mingling wetly with both their labored breathing.

Xiaojun added a third finger, twisted his wrist at a new angle, and curled them all in, pressing against something in Minhyung that he hadn’t even known existed. Minhyung moaned, head thrown back, vision whiting out at the edges as Xiaojun hummed appreciatively and kept rubbing at that same spot.

“ _Ah,_ ” Minhyung moaned, writhing under the god, cock drooling a pool of precum onto his stomach, painfully hard and eager to be touched. “ _Ngh_ , Xiaojun, _please_.”

“Shh,” Xiaojun nipped at the lobe of his ear, pressed a kiss against the soft skin just below it. “Breathe, my sweet warrior, breathe.”

But Minhyung _couldn’t_ , he needed, he needed— _he didn’t know what_ , but if things continued as is, he was sure he’d catch fire and fade away in a brilliant blaze.

Xiaojun’s fingers were sliding out of him, then. Minhyung whined, empty and eager, and so, so _close_.

“ _Xiaojun_.”

“I know,” Xiaojun grunted, pressing his forehead to Minhyung’s shoulder as he finally, finally slicked himself up. 

He pressed the blunt head of his cock to Minhyung’s entrance, and Minhyung very nearly laughed, giddy at the knowledge that he was about to take a god. A god who made him feel strong and cared for in equal parts.

Xiaojun pushed his hips forward, pressing into Minhyung, punching all the air from Minhyung’s lungs—because he was bigger than three fingers could have prepared him for—but _oh_ , oh did it feel good. Noises Minhyung didn’t know he could make spilled from his lips. Unintelligible pleas for more even as Xiaojun slid more of his cock in until he was fully sheathed, hips snug against Minhyung’s buttocks.

And then he was moving, thrusting into Minhyung at a pace that had his whole body shaking, mouth falling open around breathless pants.

Minhyung clung tight, the fire licking through his veins feeding into the pool of molten arousal about to overflow in his belly. He tried his best to meet Xiaojun’s thrusts, grinding up as he did so in search of friction on his cock. He didn’t last long, though.

He’d already been close to the brink previously, and he’d hardly flagged as Xiaojun had prepped him, so now, with Xiaojun smothering his own breathy sounds against Minhyung’s neck, Minhyung felt himself finally falling.

The coil of tension in his gut snapped all at once, a rush of warmth washing over him, causing his muscles to tense and seize, a long, broken sound ripping from his chest as he came in ropes of white across both their chests. He felt weightless, almost as if he were floating outside his body in that moment, enjoying the waves of satiation washing through him as Xiaojun fucked him through it all with low grunts.

It took some more time for Xiaojun to come, joining him in completion, spilling warmth into Minhyung’s body. Minhyung felt over-sensitive when he finally did, muscles jumping with each small roll of his hips, but none of that overrode the bone-deep satisfaction he felt at the look of exhausted bliss coloring Xiaojun’s face. 

Xiaojun nuzzled against Minhyung’s cheek, breaths puffing gently against his skin.

“Stay?” he asked, kissing Minhyung’s cheek sweetly.

Minhyung chuckled, feeling his ears flush pink despite all that had just transpired. “I don’t think I could move if I wanted to, my lord.”

A nip to his shoulder. “I’d rather my title not be used by one I’d like to keep as my partner.”

Minhyung felt his heart jump. “Partner?”

Xiaojun hummed, rubbing his cheek against Minhyung’s clavicle, like a large affectionate cat. “If you’d be willing.”

“What would it entail?” Minhyung asked, bringing his arms up to wrap around Xiaojun’s waist, curling a leg around one of his, holding him in place. “What would it mean to be your partner?”

“Fighting by my side in battles, accompanying each other on hunts, immortality for as long as you want it.” Xiaojun pushed himself up onto his elbows, staring down at Minhyung with those striking yellow eyes. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. He looked like a dream. “You’d be mine, and I’d be yours. If you want it, that is.”

He tried to imagine living—would that be the right term for it? Living?—alongside this affectionate god of battle, what a life like that would entail, what Xiaojun said it would be. Days spent hunting and evenings spent lazily in each others company, loving and fucking as they pleased. Never without someone to watch each other’s backs, and tend to each other’s wounds. Minhyung breathed in deep at the thought, an delicate sort of longing humming along his bones. He didn’t think he’d mind that one bit.

Minhyung circled his arms around Xiaojun’s shoulders, bringing him down for a kiss. “In life and death, I could’ve asked for nothing more.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed! This was part of a fun little birthday project event that Anne and Shauna also wrote AMAZING xiaomark fics for! I definitely recommend checking them out!
> 
> Anne's is here: [Listen Closely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734466)  
> Shauna's is here: [It's A Trip!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738078)
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on twitter, I'm [@nu_exooo!](https://twitter.com/nu_exooo)


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